The Lazarus Project
by Ethera O
Summary: The few who are brought in to help work on the aptly-named "Lazarus Project" are some of the best and brightest scientists and doctors in the universe... But they all, every one of them, are visibly shaken when they first see what's left of the Commander.


**Title: **The Lazarus Project**  
>Genres: <strong>Drama, General, Non-Romance**  
>Characters: <strong>Miranda Lawson, Commander Shepard (F)**  
>Rating:<strong> T for mature concepts and graphic descriptions... I suppose.

**Disclaimer:** Neither _Mass Effect_ nor its characters belong to me. Sad but true.

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><p><em>Author's Notes: I never really thought about Miranda much, but then suddenly this idea popped into my head and I found myself really liking her. Go figure.<em>

_A huge thank you to FFnet author Anne Whynn, whose absolutely incredible Mass Effect fic "Perdition" inspired me to start writing again, and to work harder at expressing myself through words. Seriously, THAT is how you write a fan fic. _

_This is my first completed and published fic, so apologies if it's a bit rough._

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><p>For many months, the lab is a tomb, grim and solemn. It is the nexus of this entire project, and the fate of humanity hinges precariously on its success. Under a stark tungsten lamp, on a metal slab, somewhere on a Cerberus space station in the Horsehead nebula, lie the remains of Commander Shepard, the Savior of the Citadel.<p>

They are truly remains: Fragments of charred flesh, unrecognizable pieces of organic matter strung together with fragile tendrils of what used to be muscle but now look more like veins. Somehow, there is something that looks almost like a skull, and somehow, the brain inside is mostly intact.

But this is no longer a human, and no human would ever mistake it for one. To the naked eye, the mass that lays on this slab is no more than formless biological wreckage. To the DNA scanners, it's confirmed to be all that's left of the Commander after the _Normandy_ broke up in the skies above Alchera; after most of her body burnt up in atmospheric entry; after what was left of it crash-landed onto the snowy depths of the planet.

No one should be lucky enough to survive something like that, and in point of fact, she wasn't, and she didn't. That's why Cerberus have gone to such great lengths and expense to bring her here. Their intention is to defy the laws of the universe, and bring Commander Shepard back from the dead, whatever the cost.

The few who are brought in to help work on the aptly-named "Lazarus Project" are some of the best and brightest scientists and doctors in the universe. Consummate professionals all, they've seen more than their share of mutilated corpses, grisly victims of chemical warfare, and worse. They've performed questionable exploratory surgery on test-tube infants in the name of "advancing science." They were on the frontlines at Shanxi, attending soldiers who'd been maimed beyond recognition by theretofore unseen turian brutality. They've seen countless horrors that would haunt the nightmares of most people, and for the most part, they continue on, unflappable.

But they all, every one of them, are visibly shaken when they first see what's left of the Commander. More than a few wretch at the sight; some make it to the sink first, and some don't, spilling the contents of their stomachs right there on the floor. One operative, an older doctor who made his name performing virtual medical miracles in the aftermath of the Skyllian Blitz, goes white as a sheet and superstitiously crosses himself when he sees "her" on the table. He runs from the room, nearly tripping himself in his haste. Later, Miranda finds him sitting motionless at the table in the break-room and offers him a cup of coffee, which he accepts with a trembling hand. "The real thing of it, Ms. Lawson," he says shakily, "is I thought I lost my faith forty years ago."

Miranda, for her part, can't help but think these "professionals" are weak. She doesn't say it - no need to stir the pot - but it's there, under the surface, in all her interactions with them. Just behind her eyes; on the tip of her tongue. She hears the consultants whispers, solemn and breathless, when they think they're out of earshot, about the implications of what they're doing: moral, religious. "Abomination" is a word that gets bandied around a lot, and also "horrific" and "atrocity." Miranda is disappointed in these galaxy-renowned consultants, but not surprised. Never surprised.

A man named Wilson is hired as chief medical technician and brought in to aid Miranda in the lab, and while his resumé isn't the most impressive, he's one of the few applicants whose constitution is strong enough that he can work fifteen hour shifts alongside Miranda and the mass of blood and meat that was once a human being, without suffering a psychological break.

One day, someone describes the project as "heretical," and Miranda can't help but snort with laughter. When they hear her and look her way, she covers her mouth with her hand and pretends to have a coughing fit. These are supposed to be _scientists_, not god-fearing religious fanatics. But the real killer is, they're _not_ fanatics, and she knows it; there's just something about this project that gets under everyone's skin. Everyone's except Miranda's.

Brilliant, perfect Miranda. Miranda whose father designed her from the ground up, discarding his earlier daughters until he was happy with the results. Miranda who was hand-selected to be the project lead by the Illusive Man himself. Miranda who can't believe in a god who won't let her bear children; Miranda who is genetically predisposed to stay emotionally distant from work.

Beautiful Miranda. Miranda the ice queen. Miranda the heartless bitch. Miranda who doesn't bat an eyelash when she connects the tubes to the mound of flesh on the slab. Miranda who has a goddamn job to do and wishes everyone else could have even a modicum of the professionalism she does.

Nobody will go into the lab alone with that _thing_, that thing that was a person, that puddle of monstrous flesh, burbling there on the slab - except for Miranda. Late nights, when she can't sleep, she goes down to the lab and works alone, the sound of the life support machines chirping and beeping in time, blipping out an electric hymn. She monitors systems, maintains proper levels of growth hormone, scans for irregularities, and time marches by unheeded. Morning comes, but with no day or night cycle, she notices only when consultants arrive for their shift. They regard her with quiet awe at how she can endure to be alone with it in the room. She tries not to smile at how ridiculous they are to ask such a question.

In a fortnight, the major organs are functional without life support, though remain hooked into it as a safety precaution. Rhythmic mechanical breathing augments that electric hymn, and the cacophony becomes more visceral, more organic. The consultants seem even more disturbed at the addition of that sound than they were in the earliest days of the project; Miranda appreciates it as aural proof of their ongoing success, but is otherwise indifferent to it.

Days give way to weeks, and weeks to months. When the project is finished, it will have been years. The mound of organic matter on the slab has begun to take shape as something vaguely humanoid, but Miranda still hears that word, "abomination," every once in a while, and it still disappoints her every time. She realizes the consultants have no vision. They're blinded by trivialities and refuse to see the obvious: That they are face to face with god and spitting in his eye in defiance. The consultants should be proud. Instead they wring their hands and fret, afraid for their immortal souls. Miranda would pity them if they did not disgust her.

She ignores them and focuses on the project. The project is all that matters. There is no room for failure here.

Specialized machines do most of the work, injecting fluids, applying weaves and grafts. Certain precautions must to be taken to ensure the Commander will regain her biotic ability, such as a liberal application of chemically-altered element zero to all soft tissues, in addition to deliberate modification at the genetic level. Eezo-imbued proteins are cultured and then set into place with precision by multiple mechanical arms. Synthetic substances, orange in color, are imbued throughout the soft tissues to hasten the healing process now and later, when the Commander returns to the battlefield. Injuries are an inevitability for a soldier, but the project has taken this into consideration and she should fare much better in battle after this than she did before. Electric impulses are applied to the proteins at a steady clip to induce rapid growth. Cartilage is fused into bone like cloth woven on a loom, and Miranda inputs variables and statistics to her datapad. They're making steady progress.

Before the muscles begin to envelope the skeleton, metal plates are screwed into joints and certain bones to enhance their durability. When a face starts to take shape, there is cautious fascination among the consultants, and Miranda rolls her eyes and is anything but surprised.

The body is still just flesh and bone absent of skin, but there is no longer a question of whether or not it was ever human. It was. It will be again. The eyes are starting to come in, and they've chosen to upgrade them with implants to improve her vision on the battlefield. For now, the eyes glow orange, like the synthetic fibers knitted throughout the rest of the soft tissue; in time, the outer dermis will heal over every augmentation and there will be no perceptible difference between her and any other human. In the meeting room, Miranda notes wryly that at this stage of the project, the Commander looks like a demon forged in the fires of Hell. The consultants don't seem to think it's nearly as funny as she does. They still speak in hushed tones in the halls. She still thinks they're acting like neanderthals, fearful of the fire of Prometheus. She still can't respect them enough to feel sorry for them.

Jeff "Joker" Moreau, pilot of the _SR-1 Normandy_ at the time of the Commander's death, leaves the Alliance Military and is hired by Cerberus. He is invited to the facility to help assist in the Commander's reconstruction by providing vids, photos and a stolen copy of the Commander's military record. He asks to see "Shepard," and Miranda advises him that the Commander is not in any sort of condition to be seen by someone who knew her; Mr. Moreau says he is directly responsible for her death, and will not leave the facility until he's allowed to see her. Miranda doesn't bother to argue and escorts him silently to the Commander.

He stares silently at the body on the slab, keeping his distance but not looking away. There are no defining features yet - no hair or fingernails, no eyelids or nose - it's difficult even to discern the gender in this unfinished state. Mr. Moreau has more courage than anyone else Miranda's met on this project, and in this moment he earns her respect. He asks if the Commander is in any pain, and Miranda assures him she's fully unconscious, and will remain that way until the project is complete. He is relieved to hear it, and though he is visibly shaken by the sight before him, he does not look away until Miranda ushers him back out of the lab.

He asks if he can come see the Commander again later, maybe in a few months when she's farther along. Miranda assures him he is welcome to return at any time, but warns him to be realistic in his expectations. He says he understands, and she knows he means it, but she doesn't know if she believes he'll come back again. She would not respect him any less if he chose to stay away.

Months pass by steadily. Skin grafts have taken hold and are knitting together as expected. Hair is beginning to grow in some places where the skin is most secure, particularly the scalp and eyebrows. The defining features of her gender are developing precisely as expected, and she finally looks human enough to warrant a medical gown for modesty's sake, but any other sort of covering would interfere with the skin grafts. Some of the non-essential staff are released from duty, their services no longer needed. There have been no major complications on the project so far.

True to his word, Mr. Moreau comes back to the lab a few months later, and Miranda is impressed. When she shows him the Commander, he's surprised how much progress has been made, but he laments the collection of massive orange fissures on her face and across most of the rest of her skin, which expose her implants and synthetic fibers. Miranda knows he speaks only with brotherly affection when he admits he always thought the Commander was beautiful. She's touched by the sentiment, even if she hates the idea that any man would mourn the loss of a woman's beauty. Miranda lets his comment slide when she realizes she'd be just as upset if her sister looked the way the Commander does now. She assures Mr. Moreau that Shepard's scars will heal eventually, before she's roused from her medical coma, and he seems comforted at the news.

It's almost midnight, and most of the day has been spent disinfecting the gashes in Shepard's flesh that haven't yet healed closed, and giving proper attention to problem areas that don't appear to be responding well to implants. Wilson informs Miranda that with Shepard's low muscle density, he estimates they can lower the barbiturate dosage regulating her induced coma by a significant amount with no negative side effects. Miranda is wary, unsure of the psychological trauma it could cause if Shepard woke up while still in such a grisly condition. But after examining Wilson's data and coming to the same conclusion, she agrees they should attempt to lower the dosage, on the condition that a sedative be kept ready, just in case.

Inevitably, something goes wrong. For a few minutes, it seems like Wilson may have been right, but then the steady chirps and beeps of machinery, which have been constant for almost as long as the project has existed, begin to accelerate. Shepard starts responding to outside stimuli and her heart-rate and brain-activity spike as she struggles to open her eyes, her extremities flailing futilely under their own weight, muscles still too underdeveloped to properly respond to her commands. Miranda grabs the woman's hand and pushes it down as she orders Wilson to apply the sedative. Shepard's labored, terrified breathing, and the look of horror in her eyes as she struggles to understand where she is, chill Miranda to the bone, and for the first time since she can remember, she feels unsettled.

Miranda yells for Wilson to inject a second sedative while she checks one of the monitors on the side of the room, as Shepard's stats go into the red. The din of frantic beeps and chirps decelerates to an acceptable rate as the sedative begins to take hold, and Wilson is still shaking as he admits they almost lost her. Miranda leans over Shepard to see her eyelids begin to flutter closed, and chastises Wilson that his estimates were off.

That night, alone in her quarters, Miranda smokes a cigarette for the first time in fifteen years and doesn't sleep a wink. When she gets to the lab the next morning, Wilson won't meet her eyes. A wise move, on his part. His mistake almost negated the entire operation, hundreds of man-hours and over four billion credits. By rights, she should have him fired, but she doesn't. He keeps his job only because it'd be reckless to find a replacement at this late stage of the operation.

Another month passes. It's been two years since the Lazarus Project was set in place, and physical reconstruction is now complete, save for some lingering orange lacerations and hairline cracks akin to scarring. Most of the consultants have been dismissed, with a few of the best kept on retainer in case of emergency. In less than six months the Lazarus Project will be complete, and Miranda's job description will change from Project Director to Shepard's second-in-command. Shepard has no say in it; Cerberus is funding this operation, so Cerberus calls the shots. And this order comes from the highest of the high: The Illusive Man himself.

There are five months left to go when Wilson betrays them, and Miranda can't say she's surprised. Disappointed, but never surprised. He locks Miranda out of the facility and sets mechs on the lab technicians and various other personnel. Most of them are unequipped to fight back against any sort of threat. They won't survive the attack, but Miranda can't help them and doesn't try. They aren't her responsibility. Everyone who worked here knew the risks when they were brought on board; they are all expendable, even Miranda herself. Everyone except Shepard.

When Wilson locks himself in the facility, Miranda knows he probably thinks he's accounted for everything, but he underestimated how easily a genetically-superior Project Director might regain remote access of the facility's computers, communications, and surveillance. Even from outside the facility, Miranda easily gains full access to Shepard's life support systems, and with no other options available, she rouses the Commander from her coma early. She'll have to talk Shepard through the facility over the comm system to get her to the evac shuttles. It's a risk, but a necessary one.

Miranda turns the volume up on the comm speaker nearest Shepard and tells her she needs to wake up. On the surveillance vid she sees the Commander grasp at her face and side, and Miranda quickly explains that her scars haven't healed but she's going to have to fight her way out of there if she wants to survive. She directs Shepard to her armor and weapons, to a thermal clip, through the facility and toward the evac area, tracking the Commander's progress along the way. There can be no doubt: Shepard has been reborn. Project Lazarus is a success.

Miranda is pleased that all her hard work paid off in the end, but she's not surprised. She's never surprised by her own abilities. She never disappoints anyone.

She briefly wonders what failure must feel like. She doesn't expect she'll ever find out.

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><p><em>Thank you for reading! If you find any glaring grammatical or lore errors, please let me know. <em>

_- Eo_


End file.
